Page 59 of The Puppetmaster

My hands dig into her ass and I lift her up, loving the way she wraps her legs around my waist in an instant, the leathery strings dangling around me as she grasps me around my neck.

“Yes, Master,” she coos. “Make me dance.”

Chapter 36

Alena

Our lips never part the whole way up the stairs, and I can feel him grow harder with every step as I voraciously rub myself against his steely length as he carries me inside my bedroom.

With him, I never know what’s coming next. Every single day has been different. There were days when he hardly touched me for hours, only watching me as I performed seemingly mundane tasks. One day, he forbade me to put on any clothes for the entire day and instructed me to lie down at his feet while he did some reading on the sofa downstairs.

He fucked me on the very first day, but then on another day I was forbidden to speak because he decided that my mouth was only good for a different use that day. He fucked my throat too many times to count that day, and sometimes he just slipped between my lips for a moment, only teasing me and denying me his cock just as I got into it and wanted more of him. That was probably the most degrading thing that’s ever been done to me—but by the end of the day, I was so horny and depraved that I would have done anything to be allowed to come.

Not being allowed to talk was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be. It was liberating even, stripping away something that I never considered a burden up until then. I was very passive, only a toy to be used at his pleasure, and after just a few hours, I found myself in a trance-like state, following his domineering voice to do whatever he asked of me.

I did well that day. So well that I received a reward in the evening–a reward that entailed more than just the three orgasms he allowed me to have. He cooked for me that evening and he opened a bottle of champagne, even though he declared that there would be no drinking while I was with him.

Pain has only been a modest spice ever since that first day, and I have to admit that I kind of miss it. That spanking shattered a shell I didn’t know I had, cracking me open and ready to receive everything he was willing to give me. I never changed the way I behaved around him, always being my stubborn, sassy self—except for the one day I wasn’t allowed to speak. But somehow, I never spited him enough to deserve a painful punishment like the one on the first day.

A punishment I crave now. A punishment different from the one he tried to force on me this morning.

That’s why my heart is turning in somersaults when we reach the bedroom and he throws me onto the heavy mattress of my canopy bed. I have no way of knowing what ideas are running through his head right now, but I know it must be something special.

Because he has that look on his face. That expression full of ominous promise.

“Take off your thong and spread like a slut for me,” he commands, before turning away from me.

I sit on the edge of the bed, watching curiously as he walks over to the dresser that not only holds every single piece of clothing I’ve been wearing for the past week, but also every toy or device he has ever used on me. There’s one drawer–the biggest one at the bottom—that locks with an extra key. A key that’s never been handed to me, so I’ve never had a chance to look inside that drawer.

“Now, puppet,” he sneers with his back turned to me, threat dripping from his words.

I do as I’m bid and take off my thong, leaving me only with the bra and the see-through kimono that doesn’t really shield me from his eyes, but it still provides a layer of protection while I’m walking around naked.

I’m always hit with the same blend of humiliation and excitement when he asks me to present myself to him like this, on my back, with my knees up and my bare core exposed to him. Sometimes he intensifies the embarrassment by asking me to spread my lips for him, a notion that always causes me to close my eyes as I try to hide from the shame that comes with this kind of exposure.

I lie on my back, my knees up and legs spread, my arms resting next to me. The strings dangle over the edge of the mattress as I listen to him rummaging through the drawer. My heart jolts when he closes it with a loud slam that echoes through the room and sends shivers down my spine.

“Spread for me, I said.” His voice is approaching as he speaks, and a moment later I see his face above me, his focus between my legs.

My fingers are trembling when I comply by reaching down there, another flood of shame overcoming me when I’m met with my slick arousal. He plays me so well, it’s almost frightening.

Using two fingers, I part my lips for him and my eyes close on instinct.

“You know I don’t like when you do that,” he comments. “But you can keep them closed for now. It might be for the best.”

Met with a sudden shock wave of fear, my eyes fly open, my body still pinned to the bed as my gaze searches for his. But he’s no longer in my field of vision because he’s kneeling before my exposed entrance now, getting ready to do whatever he’s planning to do.

Is he going to hurt me? Why did he say it would be better for me to keep my eyes shut?

Oh, how much I’d love to ask that question, but I know he wouldn’t give me an answer anyway.

“Stay like this. Don’t move.”

Yet I flinch when his fingers join mine, pinching my sensitive nub.

I gasp at the sensation, my chest heaving in strong waves as I breathe through whatever is about to happen.

“I swear, Alena, don’t you dare move an inch. You’ll regret it.”

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